CHAPTER 143: CHAPTER 143: WHAT YOU WANT.

Victor’s crimson gaze lingered on Connor a beat longer before he straightened, pulling his phone from his pocket. A flick of his wrist, a single contact pressed, and the call rang out.

Adam answered on the second chime, his voice crisp as ever. "Sir?"

"Get Professor Stone into my office at NumenCorp," Victor said, smooth dark, casual as if he were ordering lunch rather than pulling a leash. "Today. Now, if possible."

"Yes, sir." Adam’s tone didn’t falter, though Elias thought he caught a thread of faint hesitation before the line clicked dead.

Elias’s brow furrowed. "Stone?" His voice came out rough, disbelief cutting through the exhaustion. "You think he’ll talk?"

Victor’s smile was nothing short of cruel. "Stone talks to whoever pays him. And Clarke’s coin is cheap compared to mine." He leaned back against the table again, his presence filling the space with the kind of calm that promised ruin. "He will switch his loyalties the moment he gets a new funding."

Connor laughed. "I knew there was bound to be something interesting today."

Samael’s mouth curved with the kind of smile that wasn’t meant to reassure anyone. "Of course he will. Men like Stone don’t pledge loyalty; they lease it. Your father thinks everyone is like him. Pathetic."

Elias dragged a hand over his face, the bitterness raw in his voice. "So my research, my doctorate, the work I killed myself for... all of it’s hanging on whoever slides the biggest check across the table."

Victor bent forward, crimson eyes catching his until there was no escape. "No," he said, dark and absolute. "All of it is yours. They only thought they could buy it because you were too polite to make them bleed for trying." His hand pressed firmer against Elias’s shoulder, anchoring him. "I’ll correct that mistake."

"Polite?" Elias asked, his voice scraping out sharper than he meant. His brow furrowed, bewilderment and bitterness knotting together in his chest. "Victor, until you, I was happy to be left alone by them. That was the dream. To be invisible. And now it feels like they’ve been pulling the strings the whole time. My work, my PhD, maybe even the scraps of freedom I thought I carved out myself, none of it was mine. And if that wasn’t enough, they’re playing gods with a child that isn’t even born yet while I..." He broke off, scoffing harshly, as though the words tasted wrong in his mouth. "While I’m some kind of guinea pig in their ledgers."

Victor didn’t flinch at the sharpness. If anything, the storm in his gaze steadied, molten crimson locking tighter onto him. "Well, Elias," he said slowly, velvet-dark, each word pressed with finality, "as you said, this is not the case anymore." His hand at Elias’s shoulder firmed, a silent brand as much as a touch. "You are my mate now. And I would recommend you start thinking about what you want... because I intend to make certain Jonathan Clarke and his brood never come close enough to decide it for you again."

The words settled like fire in Elias’s chest, scorching and steadying all at once. Want. The word rattled in his skull like something he hadn’t been allowed to consider before. What did he want, beyond survival, beyond silence, beyond the faint hope of being left untouched?

His lips parted, but nothing came out. The thought of wanting, freely, openly, was foreign enough to feel dangerous.

Victor’s thumb dragged slowly across his collarbone, grounding him. "Let me ruin them," he murmured, softer but no less sharp. "That’s mine to carry. Yours is to decide what you’ll do once they’re gone."

Elias huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh, shaking his head. "You say that like it’s optional. Like you wouldn’t have done it already." His gaze flicked up, brown eyes tired but steady, searching Victor’s face. "You were always going to tear them down, weren’t you?"

Victor’s smile sharpened, unrepentant, the kind of expression that made Connor straighten slightly in his chair. "Of course I was," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "They touched what’s mine. That was enough."

The ease of it stole Elias’s breath for a beat, not because it surprised him, but because it didn’t. "God," he muttered, dragging a hand over his face. "You really don’t hesitate."

Victor’s mouth curved wider, molten eyes catching the light, predatory and warm all at once. "Why would I? Hesitation is what lets men like Jonathan Clarke believe they have power." His thumb pressed harder at Elias’s collarbone, a deliberate reminder. "I don’t hesitate. Not with you."

Samael chuckled low, the sound cutting, dangerous amusement threading his tone. "Jonathan won’t even understand the insult until it’s finished. That’s the best part. He’s so buried in his own world of ledgers and worship that he won’t see the knife until it’s already in his ribs."

Connor let out a low whistle, leaning back, clearly enjoying himself. "Cheap shares, a professor bought out from under him, and his heir apparent hiding under a blanket with the god he hates most. If you ask me, Clarke’s already bleeding."

Victor didn’t look at them. His attention never left Elias. "And it’s only the beginning."

—

Victor’s office at NumenCorp was cut from glass and steel, perched high above the city where the skyline glittered like prey waiting below. The floor-to-ceiling windows let in the hard morning light, catching on chrome edges and polished marble, every surface immaculate and expensive. It was a room designed to intimidate without needing to speak.

Behind the broad desk, Victor sat in a suit of deep navy wool, the cut sharp enough to look like it had been tailored straight onto his frame. When he shifted, his watch glinted, its platinum face reflecting the sun. When he folded his hands together, it was the ring that caught his attention: Elias’ ring, a black stone set in brushed gold.

Professor Stone stepped inside with the careful gait of a man who knew exactly how much danger this room held. Tall and broad-shouldered even in his sixties, his white hair was combed neatly back, the line of his glasses flashing under the light as he adjusted them with a measured touch. The polite smile on his mouth was practiced, but his eyes, grey, sharp, and quick, gave him away. They flicked around the room once, landing at last on Victor, wary but calculating.

"Mr. Numen," he said, voice smooth but faintly strained. "An unexpected summons."

Victor leaned back in his chair, crimson eyes half-lidded, the picture of ease except for the razor weight in his stare. "We both know that it was a matter of time."

Stone inclined his head as though conceding the point, the lines at the corners of his mouth tightening. "I assume this is about the Clarkes."

"Mm." Victor’s tone was almost bored, but the gleam in his eyes wasn’t. "I hear Jonathan’s been tugging at your leash."